I threw my life on the ground and watched it shatter.

In a single moment everything, everything that I knew changed.

I raged, wept and futilely tried to put the pieces together.


I do not remember the moment I realized that my hands where cut and my blood dulled the once bright edges.

I put the shards down and backed away.

From a distance I could see the irrevocable change

But my hands still reached out.

Sheer force of will and the desire to heal stayed them time and time again.


Now a few scares stretch as my hands move once more towards the pieces.

Instead of seeking to replicate what once was, they nimbly dust and wash each;

Looking for the qualities that only it contains: a color, a shape or curvature.

Carefully I lay them out in the mud of this new life.


I am unsure how one piece will sit next to another: if the edges will combine to please the eye,

If the colors still compliment in this erratic new state.

But as each piece finds its place I see the whole better, I trust the wisdom of my hands.

It is not the piece I set out to make, not in its function or form

But it is stronger and more beautiful for the breaking.

AC 2012


8 responses »

    • I wanted to find something mosaic like to go with the writing. I got the ides for the poem driving home from work. Its been one of those year and I finally feel like I’m come out of the fog and into something better.

  1. Beautiful word images, and also a unique ‘plate’ image! Did you do the arrangement of the shards in the picture too? Your poem reminds me of the Hemingway quote “strong in the broken places”… well done!

    • thanks, I knew that I was coming out of the last year when I no longer wanted to rage or morn but build instead. I’m glad that my words could share that with you.

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